


Actual Skeletons

by fangirlingfanatic



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Olly is a Cinnamon Roll, i love these boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 21:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8302376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlingfanatic/pseuds/fangirlingfanatic
Summary: "You want to talk about any of it?" Connor curled closer to Oliver's side before shivering. "I…" His voice was raspy, and cracked from all of the crying and yelling in his sleep. "I can't, Olly." -One shot. Connor can't sleep without having nightmares, and Oliver wants to know why. He also wants to know why Connor has such bad taste in TV shows.





	

_He was wrapped in a carpet._

_Connor didn't know how he knew it was a carpet. Maybe it was the thickness and the way it scratched his face, rubbing his nose and cheeks raw. He tried turning his head to get a glimpse of the sparse light peeking from above his head, but all he ended up doing was panicking._

_His hands were hugged too tight to his side for him to do anything with them. His eyes were dry from the air leaking in from the top. It was so cold that he was shivering, even though he was wearing his thickest coat on top of his thickest sweater._

_He felt hands pressing against his back and legs as they carried him somewhere. His throat was dry from the cold air and his previous attempts at screaming for help. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth worthlessly; a sticky, warm clump._

_He felt the hands drop out and suddenly he hit the hard ground; sticks and leaves cracking beneath him as he head hit the frozen dirt and the edge of a tree stump bruised his lower back._

_He whimpered. It was soft enough he knew only he could hear it. He tried again; swallowed, moved his tongue, and pushed air over it, begging a sound to escape his lips. But nothing._

_Suddenly, the carpet was unraveled and a beam of light blinded him. He tried to shield his eyes with his hands, but they won't move. He was paralyzed._

_The flashlight moved somewhere else and he saw that he was in the woods. And Laurel, Mikayla, and Wes were standing over him. He couldn't hear what they were saying, only see their lips move and their body language give them away. They were scared. Mikayla's wet eyes and crumbling demeanor gave away her regret. Laurel's empty eyes gave away her shock. And poorly hidden by a grave determination, Wes's shoulders gave away his fear of getting caught._

_But caught for what?_

_Connor's neck wouldn't move anymore. He noticed their eyes were all looking at someone out of his peripheral range._

_They moved over to him and the tree's canopy above him was the only thing left he could see. He closed his eyes and felt them begin to water. He told himself over and over, it was the cold that made them sting and called for tears. He wasn't scared. Connor Walsh didn't get scared._

_Something flared up in his peripheral. It was orange and bright, like a tiny sun. It gave off heat like one too. His stomach dropped as he realized what it was. Fire._

_They were going to burn him._

_He tried to scream again, tried to move, tried to do something. But nothing worked._

_He was going to die._

_Hands gripped his biceps and calves, lifting him up off the cold ground and toward the flame._

_His head lolled back and his eyes met a face he hadn't ever wanted to see again. If he had been capable of motion, he would have thrown up all over himself. He felt the last bit of moisture leave his throat and tried to hide his grimace when their eyes met._

_It was Sam._

_"Don't look so scared, Connor." The fire turned Sam's eyes red from the fire light, causing him to resemble the devil he had nightmares about as a child. "I'm just giving you what you gave me."_

_He mouthed "please" as the fire got closer and he began to feel it warming his side._

_Sam just smiled and dropped him over the open flame._

_His voice returned and he screamed. The flames ate through his clothes too quickly as they melted his neck and face. He saw them as they scorched through his eyelids and blackened his flesh. He lifted his hands and saw the red and black skin peeling off in curls like wood being reshaped._

_The pain was blinding, but it took a backseat. Like he was muting it._

_Suddenly the flame stopped and Sam stood over him again._

_A tear sizzled down his charred cheek and he begged over and over, his eyes painfully glossing over Sam's merciless expression for a hint of compassion._

_It didn't work._

_Sam lifted a shovel and brought it down on his arm, chopping it off. He felt it, but not the pain. Just the feeling of a piece of you being dismembered. Like an old Barbie doll you cracked the limbs off of._

_Sam lifted up the shovel and brought it down on his other arm._

_Then his legs._

_His stomach._

_He felt as his spine cracked and his thighs detached from his hips._

_He closed his eyes as Sam lined it up with his neck, the shovel grazing his bare collarbone._

_He found his voice for one final plea. Even though he knew he was gone anyway, he didn't want to feel as his head rolled away from his chest; as the last two big pieces of him were ripped apart by a metal blade._

_"Don't." He closed his eyes, and as the air whistled from the shovel being swung…_

"Connor!"

His eyes shot open and he felt a hand gripping his shoulder. His eyes found Oliver leaning over him, his eyebrows together in concern.

"Sorry," Conner whispered, his eyes unwillingly watering. _It felt so real._ "I didn't mean to wake you up."

Oliver gave him a look and ran his hand over his shoulder comfortingly. "You know I don't care. What was it about?"

Connor could feel the burning at the bridge of his nose and wished Oliver would go back to bed. He didn't want anyone to see him like this, but Oliver especially.

He grabbed a pillow from the center of the bed and clutched it to his chest, the soft landline only amplifying his racing heartbeats. "Nothing, I'm fine. Just go back to sleep."

Oliver withdrew his hand from Connor's bicep and rubbed the back of his own neck. "Listen, you don't have to tell me anything. But Connor, you're not okay, so stop telling me you're fine. "Fine" people don't scream in their sleep, or lie about how they feel. Please, Connor; just give me something."

He felt the first tear betray him and fall down the ridge between his nose and cheek. Why did Oliver have to be so freaking… kind? Was that it?

Why couldn't Oliver just let him rip himself apart, and then piece himself back together in a sloppy mosaic with meaningless hook ups? It wasn't healthy, but it helped. It killed the pain in a painless way. Like an endless morphine drip.

What Oliver wanted him to do… It would hurt. Opening up to people wasn't an option. It was like removing the bones and cartilage over your heart and showing it to them, giving them a free chance to either kiss you and say it made them love you more, or to grab a metal blade and ruthlessly burrow it to the hilt, twisting and yanking until you couldn't go on.

Connor knew Oliver, and he knew the chances of him hurting him like that were microscopic compared to the chances of Oliver helping him heal, but was he really willing to risk it?

Oliver felt his heart jump at the glassy drop rolling down Connor's face. Connor Walsh did many things, but crying… he wouldn't have been surprised to discover he didn't have tear ducts.

"Connor…"

He had no idea what to do. His heart was being eroded slowly; it physically hurt to see Connor like this. But he wasn't sure whether Connor would accept any sort of comfort he offered. He was difficult about that kind of stuff.

Oliver placed a hand on his back and ran it between his shoulder blades. "Please, talk to me. I can't help you unless you tell me what I'm dealing with. Is this all really about drugs?"

Connor was trying to regain his composure, but it was pointless. Like sticking a kid's bandage over a bullet wound. He dragged a hand over his eyes and subtly shook his head.

Oliver wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Drugs were horrible, yes, but they were the weakest of all the evils running through his head. What could Connor have done to make him break like this?

Oliver couldn't take it anymore. The awkward tension of knowing you should be comforting someone even when you aren't sure whether said person wants it. Well he was going to get it.

He slid up beside Connor and was surprised when Connor dropped his head onto his shoulder, his cold, damp cheek pressed against Oliver's warm shoulder.

Oliver's arms wrapped around his shoulders and held him closer than he ever had let himself before.

Oliver had had one boyfriend before Connor. One boy he had let into his life late high school. One who Connor reminded him of. The coiffed hair, crooked smile that begged for trouble, and toned body. He had been there and done that.

At least until Trent had decided Oliver wasn't worth being tormented for. In high school Oliver had always been the "ugly Asian fag." So one day, Trent, his so called boyfriend had laughed as two meatheads dumped their big gulps on his head and shouted every obscenity their miniscule brains could produce. Even though he tried not to let them, tears had streamed down the sticky soda on his face and Trent had just laughed harder, even though it didn't reach his eyes.

He remembered feeling so bad he had considered dropping out of school. After that, he had stayed away from every boy who so much has reminded him of Trent, well, until Connor. Something about Connor had screamed different. Maybe it was the way he always tucked his hands into his sweater sleeves, or the way he curled in on himself when he was nervous or scared. How whenever he was emotional, the first thing he did was clutch a pillow like a lifeline. Let the flimsy bundle of cotton would protect him.

Oliver knew Connor could break him like Trent; that any day he could wake up and decide he wanted a man with equal looks or one who did things for him he couldn't. But for now, he was here and Connor was in his arms. And Connor was broken.

His sobs were slowing down. Silent tears and only the occasional hissing breath or hiccup. Oliver slid down so his head rested on Connor's wet pillow and Connor rested over his chest.

"You want to talk about any of it?"

Connor curled closer to Oliver's side before shivering. "I…" His voice was raspy, and cracked from all of the crying and yelling in his sleep. "I can't, Olly."

Oliver's heart did a little extra beat over the nickname. He smiled to himself, glad Connor couldn't see his face. He was grinning like an idiot. "Okay."

He ran his hand through Connor's hair. He could still feel Connor shaking against him, even though he was trying to hide it.

"Get some sleep."

###

They were up again within an hour, but this time Connor hyperventilated so much he was sick.

They were sitting on the floor, bare legs shivering against the cold tiles as Connor curled against Oliver's chest.

Oliver thought he had been nervous before, but now his mind was overflowing with ideas as to what was going through Connor's head.

_Was he a serial killer whose actions had finally clicked?_

_A corrupt law student who got a guilty man off?_

_A creepy Chester the Molester or something?_

He shook his head to rein his thoughts in. This was Connor he was talking about. His perky, puppy-like, sometimes a little pervy, Connor. A guy who had slept around, sure, but that didn't make him a killer or a rapist. Connor was jaded, but he wasn't evil.

Connor himself couldn't stop trying to guess what Oliver was thinking. _Was he waiting for him to admit to what he had done? Did he think something had been done to him to bother him so much? Would he break up with him again if something like this happened occasionally?_

Oliver had no idea what to do. He would suggest they go back to bed, but that hadn't worked out so well. Maybe watch a movie or something? Something to take his mind off of whatever was bothering him so much.

"Connor?"

He pulled himself away from Oliver so he could look him in the eyes. Connor's eyes were still red and puffy, but had dried up a few minutes ago.

"Why don't we watch a movie or something?" He reached out and took his hand. "The bathroom floor is cold and I'm pretty sure my butt's asleep."

Connor laughed and rubbed at his eyes before nodding. Oliver stood up and pulled him to his feet before wrapping an arm across his shoulders.

"I know you have no plans of telling me what's up with you for however long, but until then, I guess I'm here for you." Connor's eyes snapped in his direction, their dark irises searching his face as if why he was saying these things would be written across his skin. "I know everyone has secrets. And I guess I have ones I don't want you to know about yet either. So I'll just wait until you're ready."

Connor's arms slipped around the other boy's hips, his lips tugging into that smile Oliver had been missing. But it wasn't his usual smile. This one was devoid of all joking, all snarkiness, and all smugness. It was a different side of Connor Oliver barely saw. He liked it instantly.

Connor held on tighter. "Same for you."

Oliver smiled and sat on the couch, dragging the other boy with him. Oliver handed Connor the remote and pulled a blanket down from the back of the couch and across their bare legs and torsos.

Connor settled on some reality show that seemed to involve cooking. Oliver cringed. Now he knew something about Connor he wasn't sure he liked; the guy watched _reality shows._ Maybe it was since Oliver's parents were the typical "only A+s, no A-s" Asians that he didn't appreciate watching dumb people do dumb things. Maybe he was truly that boring and type A.

Either way, he really hoped it would end soon or that Connor would change the channel.

Five minutes in, he gave up trying to act like he was enjoying it. "How can you watch this kind of stuff, Connor?" He grimaced as a woman with pink claws whined about not being able to go to some sort of sale.

He shrugged and snuggled closer. "It makes me feel better about myself."

Oliver shook his head and wrapped his arms around Connor's warm shoulders. "You don't need the ego boost. Not to mention, these people could make anyone feel better about themselves. Please tell me this stuff is semi scripted."

Connor made an uncertain noise and dropped his bristly cheek against Oliver's collarbone. "Could be."

They were up for at least an hour before deciding to lay across the couch instead of sitting up. Which meant two things: one, Connor got to lay on Oliver's chest, his ear pressed over his heart in a way that reminded him how real he was. And two; he was eventually going to fall asleep, no matter how hard he tried not to.

Even though Connor was trying to keep himself awake, he knew he would have to get at least another hour of sleep. Annalise would notice if he got too little, since he would probably nod off during a lecture or a researching session.

Oliver's hand was on his shoulder, and he tried to convince himself being this close to Olly was enough. That it would help ground him and remind him that the nightmares weren't real.

His eyelids were beginning to droop and he knew he couldn't stay up any longer. He took a deep breath, and tried to focus his mind on the warmth of Olly beneath him, and not the cold forest lurking in the back of it.

He had read somewhere that the last things you think about before you go to sleep are usually what you end up dreaming about.

He hoped and prayed, to whatever God was out there, that it was true.

Because he didn't want to think about Sam, or the forest, or that crusted carpet.

He wanted to think of Olly.

###

Oliver had suffered through half of a made for TV movie before he realized Connor was asleep.

He turned the TV off and pulled the blanket up further so it met Connor's neck.

Oliver pulled his arm up that wasn't around Connor's shoulders, and dragged it down his face. _What had he gotten himself into?_

He could tell Connor had some skeletons in his closet, demons in his past. But how bad could they really be? Could he really have done something so bad that he was worried Oliver would leave him? Or was Connor like him; he just didn't want to be seen any differently?

Oliver laughed to himself softly and closed his eyes. He needed to sleep. He could worry about this kind of thing in the morning.

Connor shifted over his chest and incoherently mumbled. Oliver opened his eyes and looked at him. "I mean, it's not like you have an actual skeleton in your closet, right? What could really be so bad?"

And with that, he fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my lovelies! So, this is clearly my first attempt at writing HTGAWM, so please excuse all OOC jazz and general crappiness. And yes, I have a thing for nightmares. But this one is IC, so… I plan on trying to write more one shots for this fandom and am open to prompts through the comments.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> ~Ann


End file.
